


You get me smiling even when it hurts

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [43]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Non-sexual hair pulling, POV David Rose, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: The worst part is, there’s nothing in particular that David can point to and say, 'that sucked'. It’s just been one of those days with a hundred little things, a thousand little things, piling up on top of each other and on top of each other and on top of each other like the world’s worst game of emotional Jenga until he’s ready to kick out the bottom centre block and let the whole goddamn thing come tumbling down.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775569
Comments: 35
Kudos: 237





	You get me smiling even when it hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Someone I love had a crappy day, and I hope this makes it, like, 2% more bearable. 💖 
> 
> Title is from... well. If you read it I'm sure you can guess.

It’s been a long fucking day.

The worst part is, there’s nothing in particular that David can point to and say,  _ that sucked. _ It’s just been one of those days with a hundred little things, a thousand little things, piling up on top of each other and on top of each other and on top of each other like the world’s worst game of emotional Jenga until he’s ready to kick out the bottom centre block and let the whole goddamn thing come tumbling down. 

When he  _ finally _ makes it home and opens the door to the cottage he’s greeted by a familiar noise, and the itching under his skin recedes infinitesimally. He follows the sound of an acoustic guitar into the living room to find his husband sitting on the floor, eyes closed as he picks his way across the strings, framed and accompanied by the crackling firelight. Sometimes, his love for Patrick still punches him right in the solar plexus. Or… the opposite maybe, whatever that is — it doesn’t take his breath away, it’s the only thing that lets him breathe. He’s trying not to disturb the tableau of domesticity in front of him, one he couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams five years ago, but he must make some sort of sound because Patrick’s fingers stumble over a chord even David recognises as sounding wrong as his eyes fly open; when he locks eyes with David a slow smile spreads across his face and David thinks, wildly, that every single shitty fucking thing that’s ever happened to him was worth it if they led him to this moment. 

Patrick starts to pull his guitar strap over his head, obviously intending to stand, and before David can even think about the word that is bubbling up in his throat he chokes out: “Don’t.”

Patrick freezes, watching David carefully and not saying anything, waiting for him to tell Patrick what he wants.

Fuck, David loves him.

“It’s nice,” he says softly. “I haven’t heard you play for a while. Will you keep going?”

Patrick’s eyes widen a fraction, probably unnoticeable to anyone who hasn’t spent most of the last three years staring into them. Then he nods, slowly, coaxing out a tune while watching David walk around the couch and sink down onto it, stretching out on his back and closing his eyes. He can’t identify what Patrick is playing at first, just lets the sounds wash over him; it’s not until Patrick starts to sing that recognition goes barreling through him.

_ “You've got a way with me, somehow you got me to believe…” _

“Really?”

Patrick doesn’t stop singing, but when David turns to look at him he’s smirking. “Shania is a national treasure,” he tells David gravely when there’s a break between verses, and then he’s back to throwing himself so earnestly into the song that David has to look away, staring at the ceiling and letting his husband’s voice sweep away all the tension of the day. He lets his eyes slip shut, and he doesn’t doze off exactly but it does take him a minute to register when the song fades away; when he opens his eyes again Patrick is standing beside the couch, guitar nowhere to be seen as he looks down at him, eyes warm and unbearably soft.

“Tough day, huh?”

David nods, gazing up at him, unsure how to verbalise what he wants — but Patrick knows him, Patrick always knows exactly what he needs, and before David can even figure out how to ask Patrick is clambering onto the couch on top of him, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee so that David is surrounded by Patrick’s solid, dependable weight. He can feel himself relaxing into the couch as Patrick’s hands find their way into his hair, fingers carding softly through the strands.

“God, I love you,” he whispers and Patrick smiles as he presses a kiss to the underside of David’s jaw. Then his hands are tightening, just a little at first before he tugs lightly and David lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding all day.

Yeah. Patrick always knows exactly what he needs.

It’s not sexual, though it could get sexual if he wanted it to. It’s just… grounding. He no longer wants to vibrate out of his skin; he just wants to lie here on the couch, all wrapped up in his husband’s easy, understanding affection. So that’s what he does, and he knows tomorrow will be better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com/).


End file.
